


Steve, The Secret Poet

by Scotland_Axel (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Together, Love Poems, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve is an Amateur Poet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Scotland_Axel
Summary: “Hey, Steve. Do you write poetry, at all?” Sam asks casually, and Steve freezes."Uh, no.""Oh really? Then could you tell me who wrote this?"Or the one where Sam finds Steve's love poem written about him.





	Steve, The Secret Poet

Sam finds out Steve likes him when he’s doing the man’s laundry. It was the weeks before they were to go out on the road looking for Bucky, and Steve still spent most of his days sleeping off all the injuries he had sustained after falling into the Potomac.

Sam was about to throw a pair of Steve’s sweatpants into the washing machine, he checked the pockets first though, and found a crumbled, forgotten slip of paper there. It looked like it had been torn from the little book Steve kept around with him.

Sam unfolds it and raises his eyebrows at what’s to be a poem. Huh, well it’s fair to say his curiosity is certainly peaked. He knew Steve could draw, but he never took the man to be a poet. And he would usually mind his own business in situations like this, but the first line is just his name — his full name. Therefore, it kind of _is_ his business.

    _Samuel Thomas Wilson_

_A man_

_Who surpasses the use of language_

_A man_

_Who is effervescent_

_Beautiful_

_Strong enough to know the taste of war_

_Strong enough to be happy in a world without it_

_Samuel_

_Thomas_

_Wilson._

_Amen_

Sam swallows hard after reading it. He’s not one for poetry, doesn’t know much about it — reading or writing it — but the poem isn’t _awful._ And it’s clear Steve wrote it. It’s in his cute messy handwriting, handwriting Sam would now recognize anywhere.

He folds the small slip of paper and slips it into his own pocket before tossing Steve’s pants into the machine.

* * *

 

Sam brings it up later that night when Steve’s actually awake and eating the lasagna Sam’s made for the both of them.

“Hey, Steve. Do you write poetry, at all?” Sam asks casually, and Steve freezes in the seat across from him at his dining table, a forkful of lasagna paused halfway to his mouth before he lets it clatter back onto his plate.

Steve’s cheeks flush red and he clenches his jaw, slowly bringing his eyes up to meet Sam’s.

“Uh, no.” He answers, clearly lying through his damn teeth.

“Oh, really? Then could you tell me who wrote this?” Sam asks, bringing the slip of paper out of his pocket. Before he can even unfold it though Steve’s lunged across the table and snatched it from his fingers.

He watches Steve hastily unfold it himself, and then sigh regretfully as soon as he sees it. Those blue eyes find his again, sad and fearful as he asks, “Sam, did you read this?”

Sam smiles at him, and answers, “Yeah, I did.”

“Dammit. Where’d you find it? I thought I threw all of them away.” Steve replies, angrily tearing the paper into strips before Sam can stop him.

“It was in the pocket of one of your sweatpants, genius. And you better tape that back together, it wasn’t half bad.” Sam chatises.

Steve perks up then, looking up at him with hope and surprise, “You-you don’t mind? You liked it?”

“Yeah, man. I wish you had kept the other ones if they were half as flattering as what you just destroyed.” Sam replies, smirking at him.

Steve laughs self-deprecatingly, “Oh, trust me, they got to be a lot more flattering than that. I could tell you some of the worst of them sometime. I remember everything so it’d be no problem.” Steve says, staring coyly at Sam from under his lashes and blushing still.

Sam nudges Steve’s knee with his own beneath the table and smiles, “I’d like that.”

Steve blushes all the way to his hairline, and nods before shoving his mouth full of lasagna again. Sam laughs at him, and Steve smiles brightly in reply.


End file.
